Feels Like Home
by ausllydawmoon
Summary: It's nice to have a friend./Or where the new girl has his back and he can't really figure out why. High school AU. Jeid. One-shot.


**one more warning: this is a JEID fic, so if you hate jeid, don't read! :)**

* * *

Head down, backpack straps clenched in his white-knuckled fists, Spencer feels like a terrified freshman. As a junior now, he's getting a little sick of it.

But almost right on cue, a hard shove knocks him into the lockers. He turns to look at the offender, and sure enough, it's Brady Gray, the quarterback of the football team. He's been tormenting Spencer since freshman year, when Spencer had to tutor him in math, despite him being a year older. And before Brady Gray, it was Eric Long and Max Whittaker growing up. He's used to the teasing and beating by now, and you'd think that would take away the constant fear he lives in. But being used to it doesn't mean he's immune to the pain.

So he closes his eyes and braces himself for the punch or kick or _whatever _that he knows is about to come, but nothing happens. Instead, he hears a voice like an angel from above protecting him for the first time ever.

"Brady, what are you doing?"

Spencer opens his eyes to find a pretty blonde girl looking up at Brady with her eyebrows knit together.

"Oh, just messing around. Isn't that right, Reid?" Brady says, punching Spencer in the chest just light enough to seem friendly but hard enough to knock him into the lockers again.

"Um…right," Spencer manages.

"Seems like a little more than messing around to me," the girl says.

"Chill, J.J. You're still new, so you don't know how stuff around here works yet."

"I know a bully when I see one. So, Brady, you're gonna stop all of this or I'll show your girlfriend every single text you've sent me since I moved here."

Brady raises his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right? J.J., this kid's a total loser. He's such a know-it-all, he's practically _begging _to get punched in the face."

Spencer's eyes dart back and forth as he watches the conversation between Brady and this mysterious J.J. girl. Brady said she was new, which makes sense, because Spencer is pretty sure he would remember her.

J.J. crosses her arms. "From where I'm standing, it seems like _you're _the one begging for a punch in the face. And a kick in the balls for good measure. So stop being an ass before I give them to you."

Brady exhales and puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, princess, your wish is my command." He backs away and walks down the hall without sparing Spencer another glance.

"Um…thank you," Spencer says, clearing his throat and standing up straighter. "You, uh, you didn't have to do that."

"Don't worry about it," she says with a shrug. "What was your name again? Reid?"

"It's Spencer," he says, though for some reason it sounds more like a question. He clears his throat again. "Spencer Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid," she says. "I'm Jennifer, but you can call me J.J." She holds out her hand, and he looks at it for a moment before gripping his backpack straps tighter and meeting her eyes again.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I, uh, have a weird thing with handshakes…"

"Oh." She drops her hand. "Well, anyway, I just moved here for senior year and I only really know the soccer team—"

"You're on the soccer team? And you know the football players?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

She tilts her head, and he realizes how incredibly rude that must've sounded.

"I mean…" He trails off and clears his throat yet again. "The people in that crowd don't really give people like me the time of day. Especially not seniors."

"People like you?"

"Nerds. Losers. Awkward juniors with limbs that are too long for their bodies."

J.J. laughs a little, and Spencer manages a nervous smile. For some reason, she doesn't seem to think he's serious.

Just then, the warning bell rings to signal that third period starts in two minutes.

"Hey, do you know where room A145 is?" she asks him. "I just switched into AP Psych, and I don't know where it is."

"I'm in that class, too," he says. "It's this way." He leads her to the room, and she sits next to him in the back. He wonders why she didn't ditch him as soon as they got to class, but she doesn't seem to think much of it. Instead, she just gets out a notebook and pen, and luckily he catches himself staring and looks away before she can catch him.

* * *

She invites him to sit with her at lunch, and he has to ask her if she's serious. He usually eats alone at one of the tables outside or, if the weather's bad, he might sit in the bathroom or a nice corner just inside the cafeteria. But never at one of the actual _tables _in there.

"Of course I'm serious," she says, tilting her head and knitting her eyebrows together.

"Oh." He swallows. "Um…where are you gonna sit?"

"With the soccer team," she says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You really want to sit with me?" he asks her.

She nods and smiles at him. "Yeah. I wanna get to know you, Spencer Reid."

He can't help the small smile that forms on his face. "Yeah…okay. Lead the way."

When he slides onto the bench next to J.J. at the lunch table, one of her friends immediately makes a strange face.

"Do you guys know Spencer?" J.J. asks innocently, as if she has no idea what's been going on for the past three years. He realizes that she probably really doesn't know.

"Uh…yeah," Maya Sikes says. "Hey, Spencer."

He shoots her an awkward wave and starts eating the sandwich he brought for lunch.

"I heard you're, like, really smart," Reyna Thomas says from the seat across from him. "J.J., did you know he's tutored everyone on the football team in, like, every subject at some point? Especially Brady."

J.J. shakes her head. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, he's a _genius_. Literally. Tell her, Spencer," Reyna says.

He clears his throat. "I have an IQ of 187 and can read twenty thousand words per minute."

"Wow, really?" J.J. asks.

He nods. "I was supposed to skip a bunch of grades, but there were problems, so I just…work ahead. I'm actually working on my Associate's degree, so when I graduate high school I'll have that, too."

"Wow," J.J. says again. "Do you have any free time?"

He nods. "I'm actually writing a paper trying to answer the Inverted Spectrum Problem. It's a philosophical question that essentially asks whether or not a person who only observes the world in black and white but knew all there is to know conceptually about color would learn anything new or have a significantly different experience of the world if they could suddenly see color themselves."

He looks around at the girls he's sitting with, and all of them are staring at him blankly, even J.J. Then he sees Reyna and Maya exchange a look he doesn't understand.

"You're doing that…for fun?" Maya asks.

He nods. "I play chess, too."

Reyna smiles at him and leans forward towards him, resting her elbows on the table. "Nothing like a guy who plays chess, hmm?"

"Um…"

"Are you any good?" J.J. asks him, calling his attention away from the strange look in Reyna's eyes.

"At chess?" he asks her. Then he nods. "Yes. Very."

She smiles a little, and something about her smile is so different from the smiles Maya and Reyna have been giving him, he almost audibly exhales in relief.

By the time lunch is over, he can't seem to get away from that table fast enough. J.J. catches up to him, because for some reason she still wants to talk to him.

"Hey, I'm sorry—"

"About what?" he interrupts her.

"Lunch. I thought they'd be nice."

"They were nice," he says, stopping and tilting his head. "I was just…a little uncomfortable, is all. They were looking at me weird."

J.J. opens her mouth, but then closes it again. Then she says, "Right. That's what I meant. I'm sorry about that. Maybe tomorrow we can sit somewhere else."

"You'd rather eat alone outside with me than at a good table with the soccer team?" he asks.

She shrugs. "You're the first friend I've made that wasn't kinda forced, if you know what I mean. I'm friends with the soccer girls because we play together, and I know a lot of the other athletes because they're all in the same friend group."

"Oh," he says with a small smile.

She tilts her head, catching his eyes. "So…can I have your number? Maybe we could hang out or something."

"Um, yeah. Okay," he replies. "I'd like that."

* * *

A couple of months into school, and somehow J.J. has become his closest friend. He's at her house practically every day that she doesn't have practice after school (which is only Wednesdays and Fridays, but still), and he goes to her soccer games every Thursday. Granted, he sits at the very top of the bleachers to stay away from his classmates and he mostly just reads the whole time, but he still goes to support her.

He's met her parents, too, and they seem to have accepted him into their family, just like that. And when he asked about the other girl in a lot of the older family photos, J.J. trusted him enough to tell him about her older sister who took her own life when J.J. was younger. She cried when she told him, and he didn't know how to respond other than to pat her back awkwardly, but then she leaned over from where she was sitting next to him on her bed and hugged him.

"My dad left me and my mom," he had offered awkwardly. "She has schizophrenia, and when she had her first bad episode when I was little, he left."

It didn't seem to help her much, but after that they seemed to have a more permanent bond. He still isn't really sure how to handle it.

"Spence?" she asks from across from him on the floor of her bedroom, breaking him out of his own thoughts. He's still getting used to the nickname she uses for him now.

"Hmm?" He looks up at her. "Sorry."

She smiles a little. "What're you thinking about?"

He shrugs. "Us."

"Us?" she asks.

"I've never had a…'best friend' before. I mean, I have some friends, but I'm not good at being really close to people. You're my first _best _friend. That's probably stupid."

Her smile widens. "That's not stupid, Spence. That's really sweet." She leans towards him, as if she's about to tell him a secret. "And just so you know, you're my best friend too."

Now he smiles. "Really?"

"I wouldn't share my famous chocolate chip cookies with just anyone," she says, picking up one of the cookies from the plate sitting between them and taking a bite.

"Right," he says. "Gotta keep those close to the vest." He picks one up too.

"Hey, so, what do you think of Dawson Heart?" she asks, looking down at the homework she's been doing.

Dawson Heart is on the football team with Brady Gray. He hasn't done anything to Spencer personally, but Spencer has seen him standing by, watching with a small smile, whenever Brady or anyone else beats up on him. Not the worst of them, but certainly no saint.

"Uh…I don't really know him," Spencer says casually. He watches J.J. as she lifts her head and chews the last bite of her cookie thoughtfully. "Why?"

"I know he's on the football team and hangs out with Brady. I wanted to know if he's _like _Brady."

"He's never beat me up before, if that's what you're asking," Spencer says, doing his best to keep the wary tone out of his voice.

"He asked me out," J.J. says. She meets his eyes and scrunches her face a little. "Do you think I should say yes?"

"Do you like him?" Spencer asks her, because that really is what truly matters. Just because Dawson doesn't stand up to his friends when they're picking on some junior nerd doesn't mean he's a bad person.

"I mean…yeah," J.J. says quietly, looking down at her lap with a small smile. "He's really sweet." Then she looks up at him again. "But if he's only sweet to me and is actually a jerk to you, then I don't wanna go out with him."

Spencer shakes his head. "Dawson's not a jerk to me," he says, and his chest tightens in anticipation for his next words—the first lie he's ever told her. (Of his own volition, that is.) "I think you should go out with him."

And just like that, he seals his fate. Before he knows it, one date turns into two, and two turns into four, and then Dawson's her boyfriend and Spencer rarely sees her anymore.

That being said, they do have AP Psych together, and J.J. brings Spencer along with her when she starts sitting at the lunch table claimed by the football players and their girlfriends. She told Dawson that she and Spencer were a package deal, at least in terms of lunch seating, and so he finds himself going from the bottom of the barrel to an honorary member of high school royalty.

Or, at least, the pet of one of the princesses. But he'll take and cherish any time he can get with her now, so he ignores the glares from the football players at first, avoids making eye contact with any of them, and, once they've gotten over the initial shock and annoyance of him sitting with them, participates in conversation only when J.J. directly brings him into it.

"Hey, Spencer," he hears from behind him after lunch one day. He turns and finds Dawson catching up to him. It's the first time Dawson has addressed him directly by name, even though he and J.J. have been dating for two months now.

"Um…yeah?" Spencer asks warily.

"J.J. had to get to class, but she asked me to give you this, since she left her phone at home and can't text you." Dawson hands him a folded-up orange sticky note as Spencer recalls J.J. lamenting to him earlier how she was so tired this morning she grabbed a deck of cards thinking it was her phone.

"Uh, thanks," Spencer says. "Do you know why she couldn't just tell me at lunch?"

Dawson shrugs. "Maybe it's something private. I dunno. I didn't read it."

While Spencer highly doubts _that_, he simply nods and shoots Dawson a small, probably very awkward wave before heading off to his locker to grab his books before class. He opens the note and reads it while he walks, and he realizes that maybe Dawson really was telling the truth about not looking at it, because it reads: _Under the bleachers in 10? _with a little smiley face drawn at the end.

He knits his eyebrows together. He knows that whenever people skip class, they usually hide under the bleachers to do whatever it is they're skipping class to do, mainly because while the faculty surely knows they're there, no one ever checks. He wonders what on Earth J.J. would be asking _him _to skip class for. He remembers her telling him, a little embarrassed, about how sometimes she and Dawson skip class to go "_y'know…make out and stuff_" under the bleachers after he asked why she wasn't in AP Psych one day. Other kids go there to vape or look at test answers or do whatever it is habitual class-ditchers do, but Spencer knows J.J. has only ever gone with Dawson. So why would she be asking _him_?

He feels the now-familiar tightness in his chest as he thinks about J.J. and Dawson, making out under the bleachers when they should be in class and bonding over the thrill of breaking the rules—or, at least _J.J.'s _thrill of breaking the rules.

Surely, if Dawson saw that that's what she wrote on the note, he wouldn't have given it to Spencer. He'd probably assume that J.J. was trying to cheat on him—although, Spencer isn't sure anyone would even consider J.J. wanting to cheat on Dawson Heart with _Spencer Reid _a possibility. He certainly doesn't. Not only would J.J. never cheat on anyone, but she would never _ever _do it with her nerdy best friend.

Still, ten minutes later he finds himself standing under the bleachers instead of sitting in class where he should be, and as much as he'd like to think he'd rather be in class, he knows that he'd drop out of school and travel to the other side of the world if J.J. asked him to. And what's more, he'd do it happily.

The first time he hears footsteps, it's a classmate of his that he vaguely recognizes, and she either doesn't see him or ignores him because she doesn't spare him a glance as she leans against one of the supports under the bleachers as far away from him as she can be and taps away on her phone.

The second time, he turns and sees Dawson and Brady strolling over to him, talking and laughing without a care in the world. Spencer gulps and looks around for somewhere to hide, but Brady has already seen him.

"That you, Reid?" he asks, squinting to see him until he and Dawson join Reid in the shade of the bleachers. "Damn, I didn't know you had the balls to ditch class." Spencer knows better than to take the impressed tone in Brady's voice at face value. "What're you doing here, anyway?"

"You don't break rules," Dawson adds. "And you probably _like _being in class, so what made you skip?"

"Um…" Spencer's heart races. He's a terrible liar, and even worse under stress. His mind goes blank of any believable excuses. "I'm…sick."

"You're sick," Brady echoes. Then, with exaggerated worry in his voice and a stupid accent, "Well, gee, maybe we should take you to the nurse! Could be smallpox!"

"Or the plague," Dawson adds grimly.

"No, no, I…I think I just need the fresh air," Spencer says. "But, um, thanks anyway."

He wonders why Dawson is encouraging Brady. Dawson has never openly participated in bullying him with his friends before, and usually people are more likely to participate when there's a larger crowd, not a smaller one.

"Unless…" Brady muses, tapping his chin. "You're not sick at all, and you're here for a more _nefarious _reason."

"Good word," Spencer says, pretending not to hear his own voice squeak.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Brady asks, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know who would want to, but—"

"The note from lunch," Dawson says, his eyes narrowing, going wide, and then narrowing again. _Oh no_. "It's J.J., isn't it? You're here to fuck my girlfriend."

Now Spencer's eyes go wide. "Whoa, _what_?N—no," he stammers. "It's not like that. I mean, okay, J.J. did tell me to meet her here, but I wasn't gonna—I would never—"

He's cut off by a fist connecting with his nose. As he stumbles back, seeing stars, he gets punched again, and he vaguely hears Brady encouraging Dawson while hurling insults at Spencer. One more punch sends him sprawling on the ground, and then Brady kicks him in the side once, twice for good measure.

"Stay the _fuck _away from my girlfriend," Dawson tells him forcefully, and then he and Brady leave, evidently forgetting about whatever they came here to do in the first place.

Unless…

Oh.

_Oh. _

J.J. was never coming.

* * *

He skips school the next day, and J.J. texts him sporadically throughout the school day. But he's actually surprised when J.J. calls him after school gets out.

"Where were you?" she asks before he even has the chance to say hello. "You don't miss school. Ever. Are you okay? You weren't answering my texts, I was worried—"

"I'm okay," he answers softly, his head pounding and his heart following suit. "Just not feeling well."

"You must be _really _sick," J.J. says. "Can I bring you something? Is your mom there? I can come over—"

"J.J., really, I'm fine," he interrupts.

"I'm coming over. With soup. I also picked up all your homework from all your classes. Maybe that'll help you feel better, too."

Before he can protest, she hangs up. He sighs and looks at his reflection in the now-dark screen of his phone. His nose is bandaged, and his face looks like a toddler's attempt at a watercolor painting of outer space, with dark blue and purple bruises all over and on top of each other. He checks the time and takes another Ibuprofen to dull the pain before laying down on the couch and closing his eyes.

A few minutes later, he hears the front door open and close and then J.J.'s voice as she rummages around in the kitchen. "You could've at least texted me back, you know. I thought something seriously bad had happened, like you were hurt or deathly ill or—"

Her voice becomes clearer as she walks in the room, and he opens his eyes when she stops talking just in time to see her rush toward him.

"Spence, what _happened_?" She kneels next to him as her eyes roam over his face. She reaches out to touch his cheek, and he winces as soon as her fingertips graze his skin.

"I…fell." He meets her eyes, and she gives him the Look. The one she always gives him when he tries to downplay what Brady and the others do to him, the one where her chin tilts down and her eyebrows raise and her eyes glint as if they have a voice all their own to say _Bullshit_.

He exhales and sits up, and she moves up onto the couch next to him, her face softening again into concern. She touches his arm, and he swallows, clasping his hands and then twisting his hands in opposite directions, his knuckles popping in response.

"I ran into Brady…" He almost accidentally mentions Dawson, but he bites his tongue and clears his throat. "I was under the bleachers, and Brady saw me, and…here we are."

"Why were you there?" J.J. asks.

"I wasn't feeling well. Needed some air."

"During class?"

"Mmhm."

She gives him the Look again, and he shifts uncomfortably. Finally, unable to withstand it any longer, he stands up from the couch, wobbling for a second as his head spins.

"I don't think that's the full story," she says. "But…if that's all you wanna tell me, then fine. Why didn't you tell anyone? Or at least _me_?"

"I didn't wanna bother you," he tells her. _Or let slip that your boyfriend did this. _

"Spence, you could never bother me."

Spencer had forgotten about the ripped-up orange sticky note on the coffee table. He did it when he got home yesterday, so angry with himself and in pain and confused and feeling so many other negative emotions that he didn't know what else to do. And he had evidently forgotten to throw it away.

But he remembers it as soon as J.J. says, "What's that?"

She reaches for the four pieces of the note and reads them before he even thinks to try to stop her, and then she looks up at him with a frown. "Why do you have this?" she asks. "This is a note I passed to Dawson in third period yesterday."

So she really hadn't written it. A part of him feels relieved—at least she wasn't in on the plan, though he had never _truly _suspected that. But he mostly feels like an idiot. How could he have thought it really was her, asking him to skip class, which she knows he hates doing, just to meet her under the bleachers and do what, talk? Certainly not cheat on her boyfriend.

And still another part of him, a small part, but one with a big enough impact on his emotions to overcome the embarrassment, is disappointed. Disappointed that it wasn't him she had written the note for. Disappointed that he allowed himself to hope that maybe she had written it for him and that maybe she hadn't wanted to talk at all. Disappointed in himself for _wanting _that when she has a boyfriend.

She stands up from the couch, and he takes an instinctive step back, tripping on the coffee table as he does. "Spence, what really happened yesterday?"

He swallows and looks down, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Dawson," he mutters.

"What?"

"Dawson," he repeats, lifting his head, this time loud enough for her to hear him. "Dawson gave me the note."

"So Dawson gave you a note saying to meet him under the bleachers, and you just…went?"

"He said that you said to give it to me. It was your handwriting. I was confused, but…yeah, I went. And then he and Brady met me there."

"Why would you go?"

"Because I thought it was you!" he blurts, frustrated that she can't seem to understand this simple detail she's decided to latch onto even though it's one of the least important parts of the story. Frustrated that he could've been such an idiot, when he's supposed to be a genius and Dawson's plan was so _obvious_.

"Why would I send you that note?"

"I don't know!" he exclaims. Then, wincing at his raised voice, he continues at a normal volume: "I don't know. But I went to wait for you, and they came instead, and Dawson started beating me up and telling me to stay away from you."

"Wait. _Dawson's _the one who beat you up? You said he doesn't do that!"

"He didn't. But I guess he thought that me meeting you under the bleachers meant I'd be complicit if you wanted to cheat on him, so he tried something new."

"I would never—"

"I know that," Spencer snaps, still angry at himself.

"Would you?"

He meets her eyes. "Would I what?" he asks warily. They're entering into dangerous territory, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think she was accusing him of something.

She swallows, and he can see it in her face that she already regrets the accusation. But she asks the question anyway: "If the note really had been from me, and if that's why I had sent it, would you have gone along with it?"

His heart drops. "Do you _think _I would have?"

"No, I don't."

"Then why'd you ask? You already knew the answer."

"I don't know. Why'd you try to meet me there?"

He rolls his eyes, his head throbbing in protest. She's really back to this? "I don't know, J.J. I thought my best friend asked me to meet her under the bleachers during class, knowing that I don't normally skip class, so I figured it might be important, and I went."

"Well…thank you. Even though it wasn't real, thanks for being there for me."

"Yeah, anytime, J.J.," he says tiredly. "Everything good now?"

"No, everything is not _good_, Spence. My boyfriend just set you up and then twisted our friendship into a reason to kick your ass."

"Don't make it into a bigger deal than it is," he says. "I'm an easy target. I'm used to getting my ass kicked. At least Dawson pretended to have a reason. Just let it go."

"If he did it once, he'll do it again. He's clearly threatened by our friendship—"

"I seriously doubt that."

"Well, he used it as a reason to beat you up."

"J.J., we're just gonna keep talking in circles."

"I'm just trying to understand how this happened."

"I don't know how else to explain it to you," he says exasperatedly. "Dawson saw the chance to put me in that position so he could beat me up for hanging out with you, and he took it."

"Yeah, but _why_?"

"To put me in my place, maybe, I don't know. Does it matter?"

"It matters to me. And put you in what place?"

He exhales, remembering her frustratingly wonderful refusal to acknowledge that high school cliques are as binding as they are. "My place at the bottom of the high school food chain. Because Dawson and Brady and you are at the top. It's just how it is."

She frowns. "Well, that's stupid."

"That's life," he says with a shrug.

"You know I don't care about that stuff, right?"

He gives her a small smile. "I know."

"I'm gonna break up with Dawson."

Spencer swallows. "You are?"

"Well, yeah. He's clearly an asshole. And I'm not gonna date someone who beats up someone else because of high school social status."

"I think he beat me up because he thought I was ready to make out with his girlfriend who I already hang out with more than he'd like," Spencer points out.

"You just said that was a pretend reason because you're an easy target."

"Right. I just…don't wanna be the reason you end an otherwise good relationship."

"It's not because of you," she says. "It's because Dawson showed his true personality, which isn't good, and you're just…the means by which I found out who he really is."

"Okay," Spencer says slowly. "I'm sorry, J.J."

"You don't have to apologize. All of this is _Dawson's _fault. Not yours."

He swallows. "I should've known you wouldn't write me a note like that."

"_Stop_. Do not blame yourself." She grabs his hand and squeezes it, and his heart pounds. He squeezes her hand back and gives her a small smile. She smiles up at him.

"So…are we good _now_?" he asks.

J.J. pauses for a moment, then nods. "We're good now. You just need to promise me that you're not gonna keep things from me anymore, okay?"

"Okay," he says quietly. Then, realizing they're still holding hands, he drops her hand quickly and crosses his arms. "You should, uh, you should go," he says, clearing his throat. "I need to rest."

She gives him a wary look, but she doesn't argue. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow," she asks.

"Monday," he corrects her. "I, um…I'm not quite ready to go back yet."

She nods slowly. "See you Monday, then. Maybe sooner, if you're feeling up to it?"

He nods and gives her another small smile. "I'll let you know."

"Sounds good. Feel better, Spence." Then she shoots a cheeky smile at him. "Gotta get that pretty face back to its normal color."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but she's already walking out the door.

* * *

After J.J. breaks up with Dawson, she doesn't leave Spencer's side. He loves every minute of it, of course, but when the whispers start, he gets nervous. Everyone seems to think she moved from Dawson to him, and after the rumors about why Dawson beat Spencer up, some people think she really did cheat on Dawson with him. But J.J. shuts down as much of it as she can. He tries, but no one listens to him, which isn't surprising.

Still, she's a lot closer to him now than she was before Dawson. Not just in terms of their friendship, but she also stays _physically _closer to him, too: walking close enough that the backs of their hands brush, sitting on the couch so their shoulders touch, touching his arm when she talks to him, ruffling his hair when she teases him. It's almost too much.

When she kisses his cheek as he's about to leave her house one night, he finally asks the question. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"You're a lot…closer to me than you used to me. Touching me more, being more affectionate."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even realize it. I know you don't like touching—"

"That's not why I was asking," he says. "I just…I'm not used to it."

"Is it because of the rumors people are spreading?"

"No. I was just curious if something changed."

"You're lying to me."

"I'm not lying t—"

"You promised not to keep things from me, Spence. Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill, I swear," he says, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Your face is getting red. Your face gets red when you're lying," she says.

"My face doesn't get red when I'm lying," he mutters.

"Yes it does. It's red now."

"Oh my—J.J., I'm not hiding anything!" he laughs.

"Then explain the face." She grabs his chin and shakes it a little, and he scrunches his face in protest.

"The face," he says, batting her hand away, "is because you kissed me on the cheek. That's it. I'm just not used to it."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Your face is red because I kissed your cheek," she says doubtfully.

"Yes. Goodbye."

He turns to walk out the door, but she grabs his wrist and pulls him back again. He sighs and faces her.

"Spence, you worry me when you hide things. I know when you hide things."

"I don't know what to tell you, J.J.," he says. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "I'm just awkward. A girl kisses my cheek and I turn red."

"I feel like that's not the whole truth."

"Okay, well, you're acting like there's something specific you think I'm hiding. I'm a genius, not a mind reader. I don't know what you wanna hear."

"I don't think it's something specific," she says. But he knows she's lying, and he also knows _exactly _what she thinks he's hiding. And even worse, he knows that she's right about it. "I just want the truth so I know you're okay."

"No, you want the truth because you want confirmation that you're right. And because you're worried, not that I'm hiding something bad, but that hiding it from you is gonna hurt me," he says knowingly.

"So you admit you're hiding something."

"I never said that."

"Spence, come _on_."

He raises his arms in the air in exasperation. "What do you want me to say, J.J.? That I like you? Is that it? If I say I like you will you stop accusing me of hiding something from you every twelve seconds?"

She takes a step back, as if that wasn't exactly what she thought he was going to say. Her lips part a little, and he's feeling too many other emotions to be frustrated that she's acting surprised. "I…"

He drops his arms. "That's why I asked what was going on, okay? Because I know you know, and you being more affectionate since breaking up with Dawson is making things confusing, you know? I like it, but…I just don't know if that's just how you are now that we're closer or if you're wanting me to do something or—"

"Spence," she says, grabbing his hands and laughing a little, evidently over her 'surprise.' "It's okay."

"I know it's okay," he says, looking down to meet her eyes. "I'm just not good at this."

"I honestly didn't know I was doing it, and I'm sorry for confusing you."

"It's okay," he says quietly. "But I didn't just ruin our friendship, right? You already knew?"

She gives him a small, knowing smile. "I had an inkling. I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

"I know," she says. "But I wanted to say it again. For, you know, accusing you of hiding something every twelve seconds and everything that's come with it."

"Yeah…that's okay, too," he says, smiling a little. "But if you think about it, you were hiding something too. The fact that you knew." She winces and opens her mouth, but he speaks before she can. "It's okay."

She smiles too. "There's one more thing…I like you, too."

He knits his eyebrows together, searching her face for any sign that she's lying or he's hallucinating or someone is playing some cruel trick on him, but he doesn't find any. Only those beautiful eyes and her growing smile and his probably very funny reaction.

"You—you do?" he asks her, almost choking on the words.

"Of course I do, you dork," she says, squeezing his hands. "What's not to like?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that," he laughs.

"The correct answer was 'nothing,'" she says. Then, that smile still playing on her lips, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to his lips that leaves his mind buzzing.

"Nothing?" he asks her, dazed and with his eyes still closed, when she pulls away from him.

"Nothing," she confirms, guiding his hands to her back and then wrapping her arms around his neck before resting her forehead against his.

"Nothing," he says again, forgetting every other word in his extensive vocabulary.

"One kiss and an IQ of 187 is reduced to '_nothing_,'" J.J. laughs, but then she kisses him again. It must kickstart his brain again because he remembers to kiss her back this time and can actually think in coherent sentences when she pulls away again.

"I'm new at this," he reminds her quietly, kissing her in between sentences. Then he pulls away and looks at her. "And for the record, IQs don't tend to change. Especially not within the two seconds of that k—"

"Mmhm," she interrupts, already leaning up to kiss him again.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he decides.

"No, it does not," she agrees, just before reconnecting their lips.

* * *

**this is really cliché and i have to be up in 5 hours but i sure did have fun writing it. anyway thanks for reading :)**


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